


The April Fools

by TheRangress



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Autism, Autistic Kaladin, Canon Autistic Character, M/M, Renarin Kholin Exchange, red instead, the boys are sci-fi nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 19:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13465203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRangress/pseuds/TheRangress
Summary: April has always been Renarin's least favorite month.





	The April Fools

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GrimdarkMandalorian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimdarkMandalorian/gifts).



“Blue,” said Renarin, pointing.

Kaladin looked down at his sweater. “Blue,” he agreed. “Blue?”

“Tomorrow’s April first.”

He groaned. “April Fool’s Day…”

“And after that,” Renarin said, pulling his legs up on the couch under him, “the _rest_ of the worst month of the year.”

Kaladin tried to place what was so terrible about April. With a quiet sigh, Renarin rested his head against his shoulder.

“Autism Awareness Month,” he muttered.

“Oh,” said Kaladin. “I wasn’t aware of that.”

Renarin nudged his head against Kaladin’s jaw. “They make everything blue,” he explained, “because only boys have autism, you see.”

“Do they try to convince everyone not to vaccinate their children?”

“A whole month of saying _this_ is the worst that can become of anyone.” Renarin gestured around the room.

A small apartment, mismatched furniture and a cat’s scratching post. The window showed a view of the snow-covered city, almost picturesque if you liked parking lots. Books and DVDs were mostly on the shelf, somewhat strewn about. Family photos left no one out— parents, brothers, and their dearest friends.

On the secondhand, overstuffed sofa, two young men curled into each other. A weighted blanket was thrown over the arm, and a few fidgets on the table. Kaladin wore a cloud chew necklace.

“Perhaps we need a Sadeas Awareness Month,” he said.

Renarin snorted and put his bare feet on the table. “If I wear blue in April, I’m afraid they look at me and they think… People wear red. To protest. I try to, at least.”

“Do you even own any red clothes?” Blue, yes. Purple, pink. Black, definitely.

“Maroon sweater.” He shrugged. “Sometimes I’ll borrow Adolin’s.”

Kaladin nodded. “Do _I_ even own any red clothes?”

“You have some underpants.”

“All right,” said Kaladin, “I’ll go out in my underpants, then.”

Renarin snorted. “Miss Davar would go red.”

“Miss Davar is _already_ red.” He leaned in to kiss Renarin on the cheek. “I’ll think of something. I promise not to wear blue tomorrow.”

“I will miss you, sweater,” Renarin said gravely. He rubbed his cheek against Kaladin’s sleeve.

Kaladin pulled the sweater off and tossed it into the corner, leaving himself in a tank top and sweatpants. “Why do I even have so many blue shirts?”

“Medical division. It’s your uniform.”

“So you’re Science, then?”

Renarin leaned into the arm of the chair, thoughtfully watching the floor. “Security, I think. Which makes me a proper redshirt, unfortunately.”

“Not command?”

He slid back into Kaladin’s arms. “Too much anxiety.”

“Jim Kirk has anxiety.”

“He does,” Renarin said, smiling and reaching to rub at the grooves of Kaladin’s necklace. “And Spock’s autistic.”

“Space is autistic.” Kaladin slowly rubbed Renarin’s hair. He studied the furthest wall, head tilted.

“ _You’re_ autistic,” said Renarin.

Kaladin turned, kissed Renarin on the forehead, retrieved his necklace, and stuck it in his mouth. “So are you,” he said around the silicone.

“I’m aware,” Renarin said. He leaned over to the table, pushing through the stim toys there until he finally selected a purple tangle.

Renarin laid on Kaladin’s chest. The tangle squeaked and clicked in his hands, as Kaladin chewed quietly.

“I _like_ being autistic,” Renarin whispered, weaving the tangle between his fingers. “I mean, I do now I can have… friends. It doesn’t have to be bad, but I thought it _did_ , and I hate it when they try to tell me that again— try to tell all the other people who _don’t know_ , and—”

Kaladin silenced him with an arm tight around Renarin’s chest.

“We fight,” he said.

There was a moment of silence, and then the clicking started again.

“Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

“When it’s ajar,” said Renarin.

He nudged Kaladin’s attention to the television. There Zoe was— in a jar.

“You’re usually too busy watching with me to be on your phone.” He shrugged, pulling his legs beneath him.

“Researching,” Kaladin said, showing Renarin his screen. “For protesting.”

“Oh.” Renarin’s smile was slow, but wide. He crawled over the couch and laid a kiss on Kaladin’s forehead.

“What was _that_ for?” he asked, putting the phone aside and turning to _Doctor Who_ , an arm around Renarin’s waist.

“Caring.”

“Ren, protests are kind of my thing.” Shaking his head, he turned to kiss Renarin’s cheek. “They hurt you, so we’re going to fight back.”

“Jamie gets his face back, right?”

“Yeah, Jamie gets his face back. Frazer Hines had chicken pox or something so they had to write him off for the episode.”

“So the Doctor doesn’t know his own boyfriend’s face.”

“Prosopagnosia.” Kaladin shrugged. “Space autistic.”

“Space autistic,” Renarin repeated, nudging his head happily against Kaladin’s.

Kaladin picked his phone back up, moving to the end of the couch and putting his legs in Renarin’s lap.

“I could put your face back together,” Renarin said, digging a container of silly putty from between the cushions. He opened it, kneading the putty between his hands and pressing it to Kaladin’s legs.

“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever lose it.” His eyes peeked over the phone screen, watching Renarin play with the putty.

After a few moments, Kaladin looked back to his phone. Sandwiched between Renarin and his mother in his texts was Suicide Squad. Rolling his eyes at the name for about the tenth time that day, Kaladin started to type.

 

* * *

 

Renarin tugged his sweater tighter.

“That’s not the coffee shop,” he said flatly.

In the entrance to the park, Kaladin paused. “No, it’s the walk. I asked if you wanted to have coffee and a walk.”

“Yes, but it’s cold. Why not walk _with_ the coffee?”

Kaladin looked down at his t-shirt and shorts. “Swingset,” he said slowly, before looking up. A grin spread on his face. “Race you.”

He was sprinting down the path in an instant, Renarin hot on his heels. The dirt path wound through the trees, and laughter echoed behind them.

Kaladin slowed as they neared the playground. A crowd had massed there— young men scrambling on monkey bars and pushing each other on the swings. One was trying very hard to climb into a toddler swing— a man with one arm.

Every single person there was wearing a bright red t-shirt.

“What..?” Renarin asked as he skidded to a stop. His eyes darted around, and he grabbed at Kaladin’s arm.

“I wanted to remind you how many people would fight for you,” Kaladin said. A few of their friends saluted in greeting, and he waved back. “So, uh… April Fool’s, I guess, I didn’t ask you on a walk.”

Renarin stared, his mouth gaping. “ _Bastard,_ ” he breathed.

“Yeah! You bastard, leaving us out!”

Renarin turned toward a picnic table. His brother was standing with an enormous grin, his girlfriend Shallan sitting at his side with a more exhausted smile.

“Shallan and I made all the shirts,” he said, stepping forward and grabbing his brother in a headlock. “Well, she painted, I just fetched and carried.”

“I called Jasnah and she’s going to help us arrange a protest,” Shallan said, chugging her large Starbucks.

Adolin quickly ruffled through his brother’s hair before releasing him. “Oh, and heads-up— Dad’s in a t-shirt and it’s kinda _weird_.”

Renarin turned around slowly, taking everything in. Rock, pushing Dabbid on the swings, stopped to wave. Lift had laid claim to the top of the jungle gym, and she grinned widely at him. On the other side of the playground Sigzil was talking with a woman in a pristine red dress— there was Jasnah.

“There you are, son.” Renarin turned again to see his father walking along the path. Yes, he wore a red t-shirt, and carried several more. Written in his own handwriting, not Shallan’s, were the words _STOP TELLING MY SON HE NEEDS FIXED. HE IS NOT BROKEN._

“You… You…” Renarin bounced on his toes, hands lifted to his chest and fluttering. He turned around to address everyone. “You!”

“Here’s your shirt, Kaladin,” Dalinar said, smiling and handing it to you. “And yours, son.”

“Read it,” Adolin said.

Renarin hastily unfolded his shirt and blushed. Kaladin leaned in to nudge his shoulder with a smile.

In a moment Renarin had thrown off his sweater and shirt, showing a flash of his binder, and pulled on the new one.

 _I love someone autistic_ , it said. _It’s me._


End file.
